Until I met him at the 2014 Los Angeles Fest for Beatles Fans, Steve Marinucci was just a pleasant, suntanned face under a broad-rimmed beach hat. Until I met Ken Michaels at the 2016 New York Metro Fest, he was just a wide smile and beautiful eyes. I’d just seen a face…

And before the many Fests I’ve attended over the last few years, Pete Best was just a legend, not the humble man who scratches his neck when embarrassed, who downplays his importance and talent, and who never utters a mean word about anyone, ever. Chas Newby was just the lad who walked away from The Beatles, the gifted bass player with other dreams. He wasn’t the thoughtful, kind, dear friend he is now. And he never would have been, without the Fest.

And Freda Kelly? Well, Freda was just The Beatles Fan Club Secretary, not the strong, funny, gentle, honest, loving, and yet no-nonsense friend she’s become. All of these people have blossomed into Living Color and 3-D since I saw them standing there.

Through the Fest, I’ve met almost every one of the dear friends in my life. Come to think of it, I can count on one hand the friends I have who weren’t introduced to me via The Fest.  Wow. Maybe I’m amazed…

Tonight in church, I was thinking how much what we experience at the Fest is like a church service. No, no, hear me out…it really is! (Lennonesque disclaimer here: This is not to say the Fest is bigger or more popular than the church!!! Ahem!) But truly… we gather; we sing; we pass the peace; we tell the story; we share one another’s woes and joys; we pray for one another; we study and learn together; we know each other’s families; we help one another through good times and bad…and yes, (you knew it was coming) we get by with a little help from our friends. And although you can be a Beatles fan without going to a Fest (just as you can certainly practice your religion without entering a church or synagogue or mosque or whatever), you’re sincerely missing out on something wonderful and meaningful if you don’t attend.

For the last month (ever since I left New York), I’ve been mulling over the meaning of the Fest and trying to come up with the most apt and picturesque words to describe it to those of you who’ve never attended. But like Paul (McCartney, not “of Tarsus”) I stumble and fall short, so “I’ll say the only words I know, so you’ll understand.”

The closest I can come to giving you a glimpse into the way you feel after attending a Fest for Beatles Fans is this: “You and I have memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead.” From the moment you open your car door in the hotel parking lot, you’re surrounded by people just like you. For three happy days you’re with people (of all ages) who share your collective memory, who understand. You are with those who know why you think and act as you do.

They may be teens or thirty-somethings or Baby Boomers, but they all – every one! – get it. They know why you say “Number Nine, Number Nine,why you snarl, “You’ve failed, haven’t y’jeweler?” or wink, “I am not what I seem.” They know what “God is a concept by which we measure our pain” means. And they know why you respectfully won’t wear red tonight. They’ve read the books you’ve read. They’ve memorized the songs you’ve memorized. They’d rather stay up all night and sing under the stairs than anything they can Imagine. They’re happy just to dance with you.  And at a moment’s notice, they’ll do the Cavern Stomp.

These are the friends you always wanted in junior high and high school…the perfect friends you couldn’t find. Some have blue hair, heavily glittered eye shadow, and 12-inch heels. Some wear sensible shoes and carry a cane. Some dress all-out Sgt. Pepper. Some tug on T-shirts and jeans. Some come for the speakers and miss everything to hear Pattie Boyd or Louise Harrison or Ken Townsend.

Others come for the bands and are breathless over Mark Hudson, Mark Rivera, Peter Noone, Gary Van Scyoc, and Billy J. Kramer. And still others come to introduce their children to the “act they’ve known for all these years,” so they beeline to Bob Abdou’s puppet show and his children’s parade…to Lanea Stagg’s popular class on making Savoy (chocolate) Truffles, and to the Friday night family dance featuring “Liverpool.” Our “clique” is completely and uniquely diverse…but we, in all the important ways, are exactly the same.

My husband works at a university, and several months ago, the President requested that his Administrative Cabinet submit their holiday schedules for the year. When he saw Rande’s list of events (six days for the New York Fest and six days for the Chicago Fest), he scribbled a quick note in the margin saying, “What? No vacation? ☹!” But Rande and I only smiled, knowing that by “Festing,” we are headed for the greatest holiday of them all. Roll up for the magical mystery tour!

For the last few minutes, I have been desperately trying to tell you about the Fest, but (as John Sebastian once observed) it’s “like tryin’ to tell a stranger about rock’n’roll.” It’s like trying to explain “hope” or “tangerine trees and marmalade skies” or the feeling of being “home, warm and dry.” It’s inexpressible.

But since I’ve been on a bit of a Paul spree in this blog (which is “very strange” in and of itself), let me close with Sir Macca (…and let that be an end to it, end to it!). Give this song a listen, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZc_qGLP0qY  and then perhaps you’ll understand. Perhaps you’ll quit saying “Someday.” Perhaps you’ll come to the Chicago Fest and meet the friends who’ve “been waiting a lonely lifetime” to meet you. Perhaps at last you’ll find us. Will I see you there?  “I Will.”

Jude Southerland Kessler is the author of the John Lennon Series: www.johnlennonseries.com

Jude is represented by 910 Public Relations — @910PubRel on Twitter and 910 Public Relations on Facebook.